The Hand That Feeds
by PencilDamage
Summary: In New York City's underworld, there is a competition; the first to take out an Avenger wins. But what is the prize, who is the judge, and why have they purposely chosen a bunch of amateurs that really don't know what they're dealing with? All the Avengers make an appearance, Romanogers in later chapters, rated M for violence.
1. 1: Disruption

_Authors Note: hi guys, I haven't written fanfic in ages, so please bear with me here! The story will be a lot of action, (explosions! shootings! backflips! lasers!) a lot of lolz, and a bit of Romanogers in later chapters (slow-burn romance rather than fully blown love scenarios guys, I'm not a big fan of that lovey-dovey shit), and the rest of the Avengers will of course make an appearance, and there may be other romances if I feel like it. we'll see. If there are discrepancies with the Marvel Universe - my bad. It's a fanfic, shit happens. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except for a couple of OCs that appear along the way._

_enjoy! x S_

**1: Disruption**

Steve was sitting as far back in the coffee shop as possible, facing away from the entrance. The window next to him was strangely high, but he didn't mind. It meant that he could not be seen from the street. His cappuccino was almost finished, his eyes trained on an open copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying what he had initially considered to be childrens books, which he had been reluctant to read. But Clint had insisted, and Steve had got through the first two books within a week. He'd left his Brooklyn apartment this morning to pick up a copy of the third one from a second hand bookshop just up the street, and now he was completely absorbed. He could of course have downloaded it on to his tablet that Stark insisted on providing him with, but he still preferred the feel of the paper between his fingers when reading.

He was so absorbed in Harry's first encounter with the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express he didn't notice Natasha until she slid into the seat opposite him. He looked up in surprise and she smiled, pushing a fresh cappuccino towards him as she stirred her own.

"Thanks,"

"No problem, how's the book?"

"Kind of dark for a children's story," he answered honestly.

"Don't call it a children's story in front of Clint," Natasha told him. "He will put an arrow through your tongue."

"Yeah, I got the sense he was a real fan."

Natasha nodded, taking a sip of her coffee, and licking the chocolate sprinkled foam off of her lips.

"He is. And just so you know, it gets a lot darker later on."

"As long as the house elf doesn't die, I can handle it. I like the house elf."

Natasha said nothing, checking her phone and typing out a quick text message to Clint.

"How's your arm?" She asked, when she has put her phone away.

The last mission Steve had been sent on, involving a half million dollar Heroin drop in New Mexico, he'd had a considerable chunk of flesh carved out of his arm by flying shrapnel from an exploding car. A week later, although mostly healed due to his superhuman enhancements, he still had a dull ache in his upper left arm.

"It's fine. I'm allowed to go back to working out normally now, there's been no major tissue damage and my muscle has repaired itself. How was Prague?"

"Pretty straight forward. Went in. Got the information I needed. Was on a plane back less than twenty four hours from when I first landed. Didn't fire a single shot."

Steve raised is eyebrow at her. He knew better than to assume that this meant nobody had died.

Natasha pulled a Kindle out of her worn leather bag – one of the few items she owned, Steve had noticed, that showed any signs of wear and tear – and switched it on. Settling back in her chair, she pursed her lips in concentration as her eyes began to rapidly scan the page. He smiled to himself, knowing that Natasha was being kind the only way she knew how – by not leaving him alone.

They sat in silence, both completely absorbed in their books for another hour or two, and had another round of coffees brought over to them. The owner recognised Steve, not only from TV, but because the good captain was in his coffee shop often. The elderly Italian man pitied Captain America, who was so kind and courteous, and always tipped the barista. Fame was difficult for those born in our time, but for someone like Steve Rogers, who had gone to sleep in the war and woke up to the technological era, it must be hell.

Stefano regularly deflected potential fans who may have recognised the good captain, their whispers of "is that him? It's totally him! I mean, it could be, can you see his face?" quickly cut off by Stefano, who laughed at them. "He is an NYU student, he rents my spare room! Let the poor man study in peace!" when they look doubtful, he would add "I keep telling him he should be a double for the good captain, he would make good money, no? I can charge him more rent!" And then laugh to himself. This would usually convince the would-be groupies that the blond man, sitting with his back to the rest of the cafe, was no-one special.

Stefano did not realise that Steve's enhanced hearing meant that he heard almost every single time the owner of the coffee shop had spared him the stress of dealing with zealous fans. He didn't realise that in doing so, he had created a little oasis of peace and calm, a comfort zone for the great Captain America to retreat to, when he could no longer handle the outside world. He didn't realise how grateful the captain was. And he definitely didn't realise he was going to get shot for it.

They both tensed up, half a second before it happened. Even as the window shattered, Natasha was leaping to her feet, gun drawn. Steve was holding the chair he had been sitting on less than a second ago, ready to attack or defend as necessary. The other customers in the shop were all diving under the tables, scrambling to take cover. There wasn't much screaming, Natasha noted. The people of New York were far too used to crazy shit happening.

Something rolled through the doorway – a canister. The people under the tables really did begin to panic this time, scrambling away from it and trying to get to an exit, as thick white smoke began to pour from the smoke grenade. Steve inhaled. There was no itching or burning in his throat – it wasn't tear gas. The people in the shop would be ok as long as they get out. A figure stepped through the doorway, clad in black. Black boots. Black jeans. Black hoody. Black balaclava. He raised his hand and pointed at Steve with his left hand, his handgun hanging loosely at his side on his right.

"You." The man began to speak, but his words were cut off as another gun appeared pressed against the side of his head.

"Drop it," came Romanoff's voice from behind the man, who obliged. Her arm around his neck, she dragged him backwards out on to the street. The smoke was already dissipating through the shattered window of the coffee shop, and Steve could see two more black clad bodies out on the street. Natasha had gone out of the window above the seats where they had been reading, and taken the guys out with ease.

Although he knew Natasha was very good at incapacitating her opposition, Steve wondered at the speed with which she had dispatched them. It had taken her about a minute to take out four guys – they can't have put up any kind of fight whatsoever. He hadn't seen her run across his field of vision, so they must have all been grouped on the left side of the building - evidently none of them remembered basic military training, if they'd had military training at all.

This whole operation seemed very amateur in Steve's opinion. That made him very suspicious.

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	2. 2: Confusion

**Chapter 2: Confusion**

Police and Paramedics appeared in no time, and everyone seemed to be fine. Stefano, the coffee shop owner, was bleeding where bullets had grazed his shoulder and arm, but miraculously, was otherwise unharmed. Steve felt terrible and tried to offer to help pay for repairs, but Stefano looked positively offended.

"Don't be ridiculous good captain! I change insurance after last time aliens invade, new insurer covers everything! Shootings, explosions, aliens, it is all in the contract!" and with that, he waved Steve off and began to pick up the undamaged coffee cups and saucers from among the broken ones which littered the floor along with the broken glass.

"It's kind of hilarious that there are insurance companies that cover this kind of damage," Natasha said from behind him, and he turned. She had finished debriefing the NYPD detective who was now wandering away scribbling notes. Her bag was already on her shoulder, and she held out his book to him.

"Let's go now, the press will be all over this place soon."

They slipped out the back, Stefano ushering them through the back room where he kept his stock to the delivery entrance, where they could leave the scene unnoticed.

Pepper knew better than anyone that Tony could be a difficult person to get along with. She knew that maintaining friendships had never been Tony's strong point, and that it had probably never occurred to Tony that the Avengers weren't just his team, they were in fact friends. So she had taken the liberty of giving them all higher level security clearances in the Stark tower and assured them that they were always welcome. Finding an apartment to sublet whilst in New York was a pain in the ass, so more than once members of the Avengers found themselves staying in at the Stark tower when they were in town.

However, Pepper was surprised to see Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff stepping out of the lift when JARVIS announced that Avengers – level clearance guests had entered the building. Saving her open spreadsheets and snapping her laptop shut, she stood to greet them.

"Steve, Natasha, how are you?" She smiled, and despite themselves, both Natasha and Steve smiled back. There was something very warm and welcoming about Pepper, you couldn't help but feel a little bit better in her presence.

"Steve, how's your Brooklyn apartment? I know it's smaller than the place you had in DC," Pepper asked as she crossed the room to the bar. "and what can I get you both to drink?"

"Water is fine," Steve responded.

"Stolichnaya Elit?" Natasha said in surprise as she scanned the bar. "Always thought Stark was more of a whiskey man,"

Pepper smiled "you know Tony, he's always up for trying something new. And he likes to indulge in a martini from time to time." She said turned to grab the bottle off the shelf as Steve turned to look at Natasha.

"It's barely gone 3pm."

"Yeah, and people have already started shooting at us. Outrageous, I know."

"Straight?" asked Pepper as she poured the clear liquid into a glass.

"On the rocks," Natasha answered, preferring her vodka ice cold. Back home in Stalingrad, Natasha had a vague memory of bottles left outside in the snow. Of opening a door and running outside barefoot, the snow stinging the soles of her feet as she ran to the bucket of water that the bottles had been left in to bring them inside. In the middle of a particularly harsh Russian winter, it had been somebody's birthday. Her grandfather maybe, she wasn't sure. It was one of her earliest memories; one of her only real memories.

Steve was glaring disapprovingly at her as he opened his bottle of water. She smiled sweetly, raising her glass in a toast, then brought it to her lips.

"So what happened?" Pepper wanted to know.

Steve explained the afternoons events. When he had finished, Pepper sat on one of the bar stools, thoughtfully chewing her lip.

"It sounds really amateur. Do you think it's just some Hydra fanboys going after you because of the internet leak?"

Steve shook his head. "It wasn't just amateur, it was feeble. Like someone really couldn't be bothered."

"After the internet leak, everyone knows what we are capable of." Natasha chimed in. "We took out an alien invasion in New York. Steve and I pretty much single-handedly took down Hydra. The details are all over the internet. Nobody could have possibly thought they could take us out with half a dozen barely armed untrained men."

"Yes, but an attempt at what?" Pepper wanted to know.

"A distraction?" Steve asked. "Something to occupy us briefly while something else took place?"

"Maybe," Natasha nodded. "But it wasn't a very good one. They must know we would investigate."

At that moment, the doors of the lift slid open and Tony stepped in to the room, and strode towards them.

"What the hell did you do to Sefano's?" he demanded.

"You know Stefano's?" Steve asked incredulously

"Best damn coffee joint in lower Manhattan, of course I know Stefano's!" Tony said. "What did you do to his shop?"

"Technically we didn't do anything," Natasha commented. "We're the victims in this situation."

Tony snorted. "You? A victim? I don't think that word means what you think it means."

"What she's trying to say," Steve interrupted before they could start bickering, "was that we didn't instigate this. We were attacked out of nowhere."

"Was it definitely you they were attacking?"

Everyone in the room was silent. Thinking back to the afternoon's events, neither Steve nor Natasha could remember a point where the shops attackers seemed specifically interested in them.

"I hate to say this guys... but there is a chance this was a general crime, and you guys happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"The right place at the right time as far as Stefano was concerned," Pepper added.

"The point is, it's New York City, and shit like this happens all the time. Not everything is necessarily about you."

The other three looked at him, Natasha raising an eyebrow, Pepper with an expression of pure exasperation on her face, and Steve completely open mouthed. Tony looked back at them with completely unabashed, perfectly aware of how hypocritical his last sentence was.

Natasha shook her head and took a large gulp from her glass.

"Stark." She said. "Just tell us what you've found."


End file.
